Timing is Everything
by Just-an-Innocent-Bystander
Summary: Hermione has been fighting so long, it's begun to feel like forever. What happens if she stops? An accident with a time turner sends her back to the time of the Marauders. Can she set the wizarding world straight before the future turns out like the past she left behind? HG/SB
1. Chapter 1

_1998_

She had been fighting for so long, it felt like she could never stop.

Of course, it had not been forever, only a mere three and a half hours, but when one has been on the run from both the government and a renegade group of Death Eaters it all tends to blur together and begin feeling like forever. She couldn't stop, lest she be caught and face an untimely death.

What would happen to the remaining Golden Trio if one of them fell?

Hermione Granger felt pushed to her limits, her body running merely on adrenaline at this point of time. There was little that could be done to end the siege of Hogwarts and she knew that the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the ones that were still alive that is, would soon become to weary to carry on. Hermione paused for exactly one second, ducking behind a pillar in the hopes of catching her breath. Tears sprung to her eyes with the realization that they were not winning, despite all of their efforts. A horrible feeling had settled in her chest, formidable in its own power, that she would not likely live past the next few hours.

A loud screech, almost in the same key as a banshee, sounded behind her. Hermione knew it was no banshee, however; no creature of mythical proportions could ever hope to be compared to the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange. The dark witch's presence alone made Hermione want to break down and give up.

But she couldn't. Even though she wanted to be far, far away from the Battle of Hogwarts right now, she knew she couldn't give up; for that feeling of failure and loss had always been there to push her to success. Hermione gathered up what was left of her Gryffindor courage and whirled around the pillar, immediately on the offensive, catching her opponent by the shortest of surprises.

What commenced was yet another torrent of crusading magic; red against green, counter-hexes against Unforgivables.

"Is the little Mudblood going to give up?" said Bellatrix maliciously. Hermione made no reply, simply trying to keep up with the older, more experienced witch. Bellatrix had forced her to her knees as the streams of light connected their incantations. The distance between them grew smaller as the Death Eater approached. The showers of sparking curses ceased only when Hermione realized something about war, a realization that one can never come back from when fighting what seems like an endless fight: there are no rules, and you must play dirty if you want to win.

Again, as has been said before, their magic dispersed as Hermione threw a handful of the smithereens of the castle rubble into her opponents face. Bellatrix fell back, momentarily blinded, but a moment was all that Hermione needed.

_"__Flipendo!"_ Hermione knocked the evil witch off of her feet, winning at last. Bellatrix attempted the killing curse, but it was pushed aside as Hermione came into her own. Wars weren't fair, and she wouldn't be either. She was now fighting to kill, attacking violently for the deaths of her friends—her family. And with that in mind, she used her first lethal spell. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Bellatrix was no more.

Across the Great Hall, Hermione heard yelling. Only later would she realize it was Voldemort, himself. She was tiring, her movements slower after the defeat of Bellatrix Lestrange. So it comes as no surprise that she was caught off guard at the onslaught of those who wished to avenge her former adversary. Injuries came faster now, with more than one Death Eater sending curses her way. Blood gushed from a cut on her forehead, and soon she could only see out of one eye.

Unfortunately, one eye was still enough to see the event that occurred in front of her. Ron Weasley met his end, endeavoring to come to her rescue. His neck was snapped in the frightening paws of Fenrir Greyback. Hermione wondered briefly how much more that werewolf could take from her—this only a fleeting thought as the realization of death came over her.

Like a three-legged stool, the Golden Trio fell.

Hermione's body gave out as a cutting curse sliced into her back, forcing her to the ground. Face pressed into the floor; she could just barely see Harry. He had become unhinged, losing all control, as he threw every ounce of his being into what would be his last moment of living. The flash of green, the unforgivable spell, was not lost on anyone present.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had now died.

Hermione was not far behind him. What more had she to lose? The sinking feeling she had felt earlier was nothing compared to the feeling of drowning that came now. The Death Eaters lifted her to her feet, which could hardly hold her weight. Her wand was at her feet, useless without its wielder.

One more blow was unleashed upon her, and she crumpled to the floor, unconscious atop her wand.

It is important to recognize that she was only unconscious, and not dead like the Death Eaters believed her to be. For none of them seemed to realize that the curse that was meant to end Hermione's life had, in fact, struck the time turner that hung under her layers of clothing. The time sand, disturbed by the ramifications of the blow, sent her back; back in time, further than any person should ever go.


	2. Chapter 2

_1977_

There was a chill in the air as the four Marauders stepped off the train, readying themselves for what would be their last year at Hogwarts. They wondered if it was normal to feel nostalgia for something that wasn't even over yet. It was a singular mindset amongst most of the seventh years who returned to finish off their education. The four friends—brothers, really—clambered into the same carriage. Unlike years prior, which were spent discussing possible pranks and mischief, there was a solemnity that had been cast. An end of an era would soon be over for them and of course, the mounting pressures of the wizarding world toward a blood purity war was amplifying. So, they did what they did best; made a few jokes and carried on. Hopeful is a word that could always be used to describe them.

Roguish, irresponsible, and reckless were others, at least according to Professor McGonagall.

James Potter sunk into a seat at the Gryffindor table. Despite his best efforts, the elusive Lily Evans still hadn't given him the time of day. It was all that he could do not to stare blankly at her from where she sat further up the table, closer to the front.

"Still mooning over Lily, I see." Remus Lupin commented with a wry smile.

James rolled his eyes and huffed. "I don't understand why she doesn't like me back. I mean, I'm likeable, right?"

Peter nodded, trying to be supportive.

"And I'm not bad looking—" he continued before Sirius cut him off.

"Are we really having this conversation again?" Sirius asked sarcastically. "Look mate, maybe you just need to accept—"

James was already getting up when he said, "I'm going to go talk to her."

"That's the dumbest idea you've had since yesterday." Remus remarked, pulling out his class schedule to compare with the others. Such banter continued when James returned, yet again having been shunned by Lily. The young witch didn't necessarily mean to disappoint the young Potter heir. She simply had a mental list of requirements any future partner had to meet. And while James did have intelligence and charm, he had succeeded in being unkind to one of her best friends, which was enough to deter her from him for now.

The first years were brought in and procedure was followed all the way through Dumbledore's beginning of term speech. Then the food appeared, and they all tucked into the delicacies they had missed all summer. The warm food and good, missed company had sent most students into a sleepy state. They were winding down and were all but ready to climb the stairs to their respective dormitories and turn in for the night.

Perhaps that is what they would have done, if nothing had happened in the next few minutes. They would have been halfway there already, yawning to themselves about class schedules and whatnot had there not been something that jarred each and every person present out of their stupor. It started out with screams of horror and disdain, before followed with silent gasps of disbelief.

For laying near the massive doors of the Great Hall appeared a girl no older than the oldest of students; unconscious and bleeding from several great wounds.

No one knew that it was Hermione Granger that had landed in Hogwarts, for she was not supposed to be born for another two years, and another twelve before she was due to step foot into the great castle.

She was a mystery.

And she was dying.


	3. Chapter 3

The Marauders could hardly sleep at the thought of the young witch in the Hospital Wing. The girl—who nobody would be able to recognize even if her face hadn't been covered in blood—was an enigma.

"What do you think happened to her?" Peter wondered aloud now that they were all back in their dormitory. Remus had just gotten back from his prefect duties of helping the first year Gryffindors settle in, and the remaining boys couldn't wait to begin theorizing.

"It has to be a political move." James declared. "Not just anyone could have done that—and making her show up like that? You can't apparate—"

"Inside Hogwarts, right." Sirius finished.

"But she did anyway." Peter supplied, still a bit stunned at the gore that had overtaken her body. It was not an image any of them would forget soon.

"I wonder if she went to Hogwarts." Remus contemplated. "Maybe a year above us?"

"I hadn't thought of that, but she didn't look like anyone I've seen before." Sirius remarked. "Then again she was—"

"—covered in blood." James finished for him. "Who would want to hurt someone that badly?"

"Do you think she's a criminal?" Peter asked. At the sight of their balked faces, however, he shifted his inquiry. "I mean, do you think she's dangerous?"

None of the boys knew the answer to that. They were all so very curious that their silence was quickly stamped out by plans to investigate.

"We could feign sickness?" James threw out.

"Madame Pomphrey would never believe you." Remus frowned.

Peter pondered a moment. "We could use the cloak and sneak in?"

"That would get us there, but I'm willing to bet the professors will have her under lock and key." Said Sirius. "Come to think of it—it wouldn't even get us there. Don't you remember the last time we all tried to fit under the cloak?"

The boys shared a grin. It was safe to say their last prank that involved the cloak of invisibility hadn't been successful.

"Here's an idea!" James said suddenly. "We could just wait until Remus is in the hospital wing again. That is—if you're alright with that, mate?"

Remus considered it. It really was the only way to get them all in the hospital wing without too much lying and rule breaking. Not that Remus minded those things, he just preferred to spend his evenings reading a book instead of serving out hours of detention. He was a prefect for a reason—he was much better than the others at not getting caught. So, he merely shrugged in answer. "I suppose that would work."

Remus mentally calculated the days until the next full moon. It was only three days away. He sighed heavily, not looking forward to it, even if it did mean answers about the mystery girl.

"It's settled then." James decided. They all decided to turn in after that, unpacking and preparing for the first day of classes. Unbeknownst to them, Hermione Granger was set to wake in a few hours, and she would be met with quite a shock. She had, after all, gone back in time twenty years.


	4. Chapter 4

The world was very blurry as Hermione's eyes fluttered open, needing a few moments to adjust to her surroundings. She was, at the very least, surprised to still be alive. She was more surprised though that the hospital wing had already been rebuilt in the time that she had been asleep. How long had she been unconscious? Shouldn't there have been more people than just her occupying the medical ward?

How had she survived? That was the real question. With both Harry and Ron dead moments before she had collapsed, Hermione wondered who had come to her rescue. How did they win? They must have won, for surely Voldemort would not keep prisoners, waiting for them to heal before killing them.

Where was everybody?

Hermione pulled her body up into a sitting position. Yes, there was pain, but she had been living with magical injuries for the past year or so while on the run. Her heart hurt for her friends—her family. However, if there is one thing that could be said about Hermione Granger, it is that she is competent enough to know how to put away her emotions long enough to gage her situation.

It was dark out. The windows showed the night sky and all of the stars she had once studied in the astronomy tower. Hermione pushed off the blankets that covered her body, noticing the copious number of bandages that littered her body, ranging in size from her ankles to her head. She clenched her jaw and grit her teeth while twisting her body so that her bare feet sat on the cold linoleum tile. It was only a few steps to the window. She could make it that far.

Unfortunately, our young protagonist crumpled to the floor the moment she tried to stand up, her legs too weak to support her full weight. So she crawled, painstakingly pulling herself to the wall where she could grip the ledge of the windowsill. She took a few steadying gasps of air, somehow out of breath from even the smallest of excursions. Hermione hauled herself up and leaned against the frame, at last being able to see out.

The sight that met her eyes was impossible. Even more impossible than the hospital wing being rebuilt so quickly. The whole castle looked just as it did before the battle had begun.

Just how long had she slept?

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, she unlatched the window and pushed it open, gulping down the fresh air. Gooseflesh traveled up her arms from the chill, but she didn't hardly notice. Nor did she notice the sound of an opening door and the slight shriek of alarm from Madame Pomfrey, who fully expected her ward to be unconscious in bed—not sticking the front half of her body out of a window.

"Come, dear, let's just get you back in bed." She coaxed the trembling girl, who looked unexpectedly younger than before, back under the covers. "No need to worry."

The girl seemed to look at her with extreme confusion, as if she didn't understand a word the nurse was saying. In fact, she almost appeared to see straight through her, as if she couldn't focus exactly.

"You just sit tight." Madame Pomfrey ordered, tucking in the sheets tightly. "I'll be just a moment. I must send word to Dumbledore that you've woken."

Shock overcame the younger witch's face, and her hand crept up to her neck, searching for the necklace chain that usually rested there. She whispered. "Dumbledore?"

Hermione was able to put the pieces together quickly as the young Madame Pomfrey bustled away from her. Where in Godric's name was her time turner? More importantly, perhaps most importantly, what year was it? The Hogwarts nurse looked younger than Hermione had ever seen her, so it couldn't have been in the time when she was at school. But was it even possible for her to go back more than a few years? A million questions flew through her head as she sat, for perhaps the first time in her life, quite dumbly without speaking a word.

When Madame Pomfrey returned, Dumbledore was with her. The sight of him brought tears to her eyes. After all, she had not seen him in over a year, when he had died and fell from the astronomy tower. He was younger now, of course, though the only difference she could spot was that his white beard was shorter and his eyes appeared more lively than she'd noticed in the years that she knew him.

"Hello, my dear," Dumbledore greeted. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is where you are now."

Hermione couldn't pull her gaze away from him, though he was becoming increasingly blurry as her eyes filled with tears. One slowly traced its way down her cheek as she said. "Yes, sir. I know."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and looked at her over his crescent moon spectacles. She clearly recognized him, but he had no recollection of her. He asked anyway, "Have we met?"

The girls hands were shaking slightly, so she curled them into fists and pressed them harshly into her lap. "That's the thing. Not yet."

Dumbledore paused a moment to ponder, coming to sit at the foot of Hermione's bed. "So you know me, but I do not yet know you?"

The girl nodded stiffly. "Exactly, Professor."

Madame Pomfrey looked back and forth between her ward and her employer. A profound look had come over the latter's face, and it renewed the unsettling feeling in her stomach that the young woman in her care was not all that she seemed to be. The nurse, much like everyone else in the castle, was curious, and was in a unique position to learn more about the mysterious witch who appeared out of nowhere, covered in blood and retaining only a wand and a beaded bag.

"Let us, then, start with your name." Dumbledore humbly asked, not wanting to push any harder than he needed, knowing full well the girl must have gone through some form of hell before arriving here.

"Hermione Granger, sir." She replied with ease. "And if I may ask, what is the year?"


	5. Chapter 5

The boys could hardly wait, for once, for the night of the full moon to arrive. Well, three out of four felt this way. The fourth, as can be expected was much more aloof about the subject, never looking forward to this time of the month. However, he did realize, a much bigger adventure would begin after the night was over.

Containing their excitement, the healthy three helped the indisposed one into the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey was waiting. She, of course, knew Remus Lupin's secret, and was used to the monthly visits from the four Marauders. She gave James, Sirius, and Peter a sharp look as she began to tend to Remus, knowing full well that they would be interested in the girl recovering in a bed across the room.

Remus soon slipped into unconsciousness as Madame Pomfrey gave him a draught for pain. She turned to the remaining friends, who weren't even looking at their fellow comrade, and instead across the room where curtains had been drawn up around one of the beds, "You may leave now."

Sirius turned his gaze to her, "Oh come on Poppy. Can't we even see her? We are concerned about her welfare!"

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes as James and Peter nodded along to what Sirius had said. "She is fine. And I don't believe she would like to have three young men watch her while she sleeps."

"You're right, that would be very creepy." A feminine voice spoke. All eyes flew across to the girl who had appeared from behind the curtains. She looked only slightly better than when she had been found, for she was covered in bruises and bandages instead of blood, wearing a light blue dressing gown over her hospital gown.

"Miss Granger!" Madame Pomfrey closed the distance between them swiftly, trying to usher the girl back into bed. "You should not be up at this hour!"

"Please, I haven't been out of bed in days!" Hermione pushed Madame Pomfrey's hands away from her. The boys watched in keen interest. One, in particular, couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, despite all of her obvious ailments. Yes, Sirius Black was soon entranced.

"I insist you sit down at once!" The nurse contended. "You don't want to repeat what happened yesterday."

What had happened yesterday, you may ask? The boys were definitely curious, and it showed on their faces. The girl smiled sadly as she allowed herself to be driven back in bed. She answered their silent question, "I have the slightest of problems in that I tend to pass out if I walk anymore than a few feet."

James, Sirius, and Peter drew closer as Hermione found herself tucked neatly into bed again. Her eyes seemed to flick over their faces, linger on each for a second before moving onto the next. She scrutinized Peter the longest, and he quickly grew uncomfortable under her gaze. There was something sad that seemed to be engrained in her features, something that wouldn't disappear no matter the face she made. They all sensed a great deal of tragedy in the air around her.

Hermione, herself, could hardly contain the sensation of needing to cry. Here were some of the men she had grown up hearing about—only they weren't hardly those men yet. She both knew and didn't know them. Hermione had known it would only be a matter of time before she met the Marauders as they once were, if in fact they were at Hogwarts. They were just the sort of people she expected to get into trouble just for the sake of their curiosity. Remus, though unconscious, had an uncontrollable effect on the room, making her feel safe despite being so far from the familiarity of her own time. And James, who looked so much like his son, made her hurt deep within her chest. Sirius made her heart skip a beat. Though she recognized him, she had never seen him in all his young adult glory. He seemed so sure of himself—hardly the shell of the man she had come to know in her years at Hogwarts.

Finally, was Peter. Hermione did not know where he was at with the Marauders. Where did his loyalty lie as of late? It was not something she could determine from one simple look. She would have to investigate once she emerged from the hospital wing.

Hermione took the chance to introduce herself before Madame Pomfrey shooed the boys away for the night. "My name is Hermione Granger. I hope you will all come to visit me some time."

Madame Pomfrey shot her a look of annoyance that she elected to ignore as the boys introduced themselves. Each of the Marauders (minus the unconscious one) felt keenly under observation. Hermione's way of looking at them was sharp and unyielding, her eyes seeming much older than her age.

"Alright, you three. Off to bed. Its nearly morning already." Madame Pomfrey showed them to the door as Hermione lowered herself to lay down again. How could she still be tired after laying around for days on end? Thankfully, excluding her fainting spell yesterday, she had managed to fall back into circadian rhythm; her nights spent sleeping (albeit not well, due to being plagued by nightmares) and her days spent talking with Dumbledore in hushed voices about her situation. They had come to the same conclusion: there was no feasible way for her to return to her own time.

Not only had time turners not been designed to send someone forward, the future Hermione had left behind was not one that she would want to go back to. Everyone she knew was likely already dead—an idea that left her feeling weak and alone.

No, she could never go back. Never.

Dumbledore also seemed wary of the implications of her presence. If anyone else caught wind of the young time traveler, it could mean disaster. Voldemort's growing crusade would flourish if she was ever found out by them. And the fact that Hermione knew so much of the events to come? Well, it was certain that he would use the information he had gained to his advantage. If he didn't, the future of himself and all those around him would be even bleaker than he had ever imagined.

Therefore, a cover story had been crafted on her behalf.

Hermione had been declared a member of the Order of the Phoenix, the sole survivor of a secret subdivision that operated under the radar of even the highest officials in the group. She had been living on the run for the last year (which wasn't even a lie); such was exactly what Dumbledore told the members of the Order. They were, of course, horrified that he would keep such a secret from him, but even more, they were desperate for information about the girl, who he had promised not to reveal more than he had to about her.

Hermione would change everything. She knew this. She knew that because of her, so many people—magical and muggle alike—wouldn't have to die. And regardless of the mounting isolation she felt, that thought alone allowed her to sleep at night. She yearned to heal faster.

She had a lot of work to do.


End file.
